


They rhyme

by liv_k



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Jedi Code, Sith Code, Some dark imagery (metaphorical and non-graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 23:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17272832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liv_k/pseuds/liv_k
Summary: Joined by fate, twin halves of a single unity, Ben Kenobi and Darth Vader are about to face each other, but before that they must face for one last time the Codes to which they have pledged their lives.In their manichaean opposition they are like poetry.They rhyme.





	They rhyme

 

Feet slightly apart and arms folded on his durasteel chest, Darth Vader stands before the viewport of the Devastator, watching it leave the carnage of Scarif behind. He is as motionless as the Sith Lords of old in their timeless effigies carved in Korriban’s stone; the only movement to be seen is the illusion of hyperspace lights as they dance across the polished surface of his mask, a ghastly waltz of dead stars.

The bustling activity of the bridge and the hurried voices of the crew are drowned in the black hole of his presence; the silence around him can only be cracked by the harsh cadence of his respirator, trademark of his persona, ominous memento of impending doom.

It happens then.

The ripple comes in soaring flames licking the stumps of his limbs, tongues of devouring pain. In its wake comes the scent, ash and burned flesh and the salty tang of tears, deceitful impressions from senses precluded to him for so long – smell and touch and taste, all destroyed in unforgiving hell. It all comes from another plan of existence, the never healed wound in the Force, and it screams a name.

The name he hates more than any other.

Amidst the onslaught he merely clenches his fists. His breath comes harsher, faster, but physiological reactions are smothered under the regular pattern of his mechanic lungs. No one on the bridge notices and, if they do, no one dares to acknowledge it.

The sensation then passes, leaving gross matter unaffected, smell and taste and touch once again lost in his bleak reality. It has been unsubstantial, but no less real.

Weren’t he more machine than man, his heart would be pounding in his chest – and not, he knows, for the physical agony of the flames.

The pain subsides; what still lingers is the bane of his nightmares, the unforgotten memory of the firestorm in which he died and from which he was reborn, a phoenix of darkness.

These pale ghosts of ashes and cinders have since long stopped haunting his waking hours, confined at last to be nothing more than material for his troubled sleep.

Now, though, it takes but a flash to bring it all back, suffering pain hate  _hate_   _hate_.

This is no nightmare.

_I loved you!_

The ghost has returned, a false smile pouring venom in vile green-blue eyes.

It has been so long.

The Force tells him nothing of where or when, but he knows the time for vengeance is soon to come.

He turns on his heels; shudders and shivers follow in his trail.

 

***

 

The rough hem of his robes trails behind him as Ben Kenobi crosses the dirt track that leads from his home to the backyard vaporator in order to collect fresh water, first morning task in Tatooine’s harsh routine. The gentle light of the elder sun already caresses his beaten face, its rays touching his parched skin with the weary softness only those who have known loss possess.

It happens then.

The ripple comes as a gush of breeze, a warm hand on his arm, a laughing voice in his ear. It carries within the scent of the desert, threaded with human sweat and motor oil. The gust does not lift as much as a grain of sand, it does not touch his old robes. It comes from another plan of existence, the never forgotten memories surrendered into the Force, and it whispers a name.

A name he still loves more than any other.

He reaches out with the gratitude of the wanderer lost among the dunes when his lips can at last caress sweet gurgling water among the cool rocks, oasis of salvation. His eopie can feel the shift, it looks at him with inquisitive eyes: intelligent, caring beast. Still shaken, Ben smiles at his friend and pats its back; a newfound gait takes hold of his limbs, the energy of purpose forgotten behind the battered appearance of a hermit for almost two decades.

The sensation passes, leaving behind the echo of the luminous being to whom once belonged the scent and the touch and the voice Ben has felt. It has been unsubstantial, but no less real. His heart pounds in his chest with dread and longing and a sense of finality.

The breeze subsides; what remains is the empty shell, the scarred heart that never left the raging inferno in which his soul died, the heart that still nurtures hope for a new light born from deepest darkness.

For years, notwithstanding the pain, he has tried to let the good that once was chase away the ghosts of regret. Sometimes happy memories come to him in his sleep, the most precious gift, leaving him empty but content when the dawning sun greets his weary eyes.

This is no dream.

_I hate you!_

The ghost has returned, accusation kindling the fire in eyes of molten gold.

It has been so long.

The Force tells him nothing of where or when, but he knows the time for deliverance is soon to come.

He turns towards the dunes, and his eopie gently nudges him in his back.

 

***

 

Dreaded and hated and  _needed_ , the blue image rises from the holoprojector, a ghost of flesh which does not exist in the Force. Unnatural, blessedly empty. Vader bows his head.

“What is thy bidding, my Master?”

This is all he has, the only Master he serves. The nothingness. He craves nothing else.

“Secure the plans, my apprentice. We cannot let our enemies find a weak spot in our weapon.”

Vader snarls under his mask. Sidious has not felt the shift, he knows not who has come back from the past. He is becoming weak, at long last – he will not interfere.

“As you wish, my Master.”

And this is all.

He has only himself – hated and hated and _hated_ – and so he turns to himself to gather the power he needs to complete what he began years ago on the obsidian shores, the last act of the tragedy of Darth Vader the Betrayed.

He will not fail again. He is Sith, and a Sith knows no weakness.

 

***

 

Loved and cherished and missed, the gentle presence shines in his soul, bright suffused light. There is no image, but he is alive in the Force. Gratitude fills his heart, this is so much more than he deserves.

“Master, what do you think?”

 _I believe you are right._ A pause, and Ben feels Qui-Gon’s concern, caring and personal. _Are you ready, Padawan?_

A wry smile creases his lips. “More than you could possibly imagine.”

_Do you wish to meditate with me?_

Ben closes his eyes and inhales slowly.

“No”, he replies. “We will meditate together again soon enough. Besides, these days I can hardly tell meditation from wake.”

Warm fondness spreads through the Force, and Ben can almost see him, maverick wisdom in the glint of his eyes and gentle affection in the arc of his lips.

_You’ve become more attuned to the Living Force than I would have ever thought possible. Your soul is intertwined in its threads. You have exceeded every expectation I had. I am very proud of you, Obi-Wan._

Once, Ben would have replied that he wished he would never have needed this communion, if what he had gone through was the price he would have to pay. Now, though, he merely smiles. He has learnt to be thankful for what he has rather than recriminate for what he has lost.

“And I am grateful for what you taught me, Qui-Gon. But this is between me and him. I must not let emotion prevail when I face him.”

_You already have come to terms with what has happened. Be mindful of the present._

Ben sighs. “I need to remember once again.” For the first time, he lets his weariness show as he sweeps away with his sleeve the thin veil of sweat on his forehead. “I _wish_ to remember once again, for the last time.” He feels a thumb stroking gently his cheek, a gesture familiar yet painful, a echo of that last touch before the luminous being left gross matter behind on Naboo. This time, at least, there are no tears. It is him the one who is about to leave, and there is nothing to grieve.

_It is dangerous, Obi-Wan. You may not be able to leave it all behind once again._

Ben shakes his head and grimaces as his neck crackles, bones old before their time.

He is not alone: the living, the dead, and the fallen one are all in his heart, companions he carries within to complete what he began years ago as he spoke his Initiate vows, the last show of his faith in the Force.

“I will do what I must”, he says and, this time, he knows he will. He is Jedi, and a Jedi knows no despair.

 

***

_Peace is a lie…_

 

The meditation pod closes around him, cold uterus of barren darkness, and Vader loses himself in himself, starting the ignition process of his inner furnace of rage.

This time, the way forward is back.

It begins at the end, with unbearable misery polluting the pools of once clear green-blue eyes.

_A Jedi shall know no anger nor hatred nor love._

Lies and deceit and hypocrisy, a travesty clothed in peace. Sanctimonious old fools, wasting away to fight passion into submission.

_I loved you!_

Only at the end had Obi-Wan acknowledged the truth, and turned it into the vilest lie.

What is left of Anakin’s soul would wish away the ash and the smoke and the scent of charred flesh, but Vader knows better by now. There is no turning back, he has chosen, he has discarded the option. There is no purging the taint in his soul. It was his destiny, the landslide, the fall.

There is no letting go, no release.

There is no way to find peace in nothingness and will the horror away. He can only embrace it. He now _wants_ to embrace it.

A Sith can know anger and hatred and love, he can _use_ them.

His lips caress the warm skin of a lover, his fingers caress the cold skin of a dead. His hands are entangled in soft curls, his hands activate the switch of a blade. Tears as he holds his dead mother, tears as he butchers the unarmed. They all pass in slow motion in the empty shell of his heart.

Slavery fear love loss slaughter war.

Blood throbs in his ears, darkness consumes his soul.

_I loved you!_

Again and again and again he replays the words, lets them burn, and remembers the devouring pain and the maiming and the words and the burn and the burn and the burn – and the tears, oh the tears – and the burn of the soul, and the fire and the words, searing blue plasma blade.

_I loved you!_

He owns his rage, hate is what defines him, the bottomless pit of his being. He wants no release.

The first truth ignites inside him, giving life once again to the fire that can kill the dragon of dead stars.

_… there is only passion._

***

 

_There is no emotion…_

 

The Dune Sea opens before him in golden waves, sand warm under his knees, suns already hot on his skin, the gentle touch of the older one now annihilated by the scorching heat of the younger, the passionate child of sin. Closing his eyes, Ben inhales. The desert scent fills his lungs, and there is now no trace of motor oil and sweat. Without gross matter, oh so lovely gross matter, what remains is the luminous being, the brother, the sweet desert child.

This time, the way forward is back.

It begins at the end, hate and despair burning in golden eyes, scorching twin suns of destruction.

_I hate you!_

There is no need to revisit the grief, the bone-deep pain, the exhaustion carved in his soul.

These are his scars, as real as those on his chest and his legs and his arms, the marks of a warrior. He bears them with neither pride nor shame. They define who he is, they tell his tale.

_I hate you!_

He wishes it was otherwise – of course he does, he is merely human, a being of flesh and blood, he does not live in denial – but there is no changing the unfathomable jurisdiction of fate.

What he can do is to learn from past mistakes. Only those who have fallen can rise.

_I hate you!_

Once again, he accepts to be hated by the boy he has trained, the brother he has loved, the twin blade he would have died for – hated for mistakes he has made and for some he has not. The final lonely tear of his life escapes his eyes and evaporates even before it can touch the sand, one last offering of love annihilated by the bleeding young sun.

Then, he lets go. His hands shake no more.

The first truth dawns upon him in quiet splendor, the everlasting surrender of self into the merciless yet compassionate hands of the Force.

_…there is peace._

***

_Through passion…_

 

The death Vader brought upon the Tantive IV lingers in the air, but is soon engulfed in the tidal wave that still soars from the planet below. The desert will never forget, the young sun still spills blood on the sand with every dying day, as it falls from the sky. He can still hear the screams echo deep in his soul, can still recall every sweep of his blade, forever imprinted in what is left of his muscle and bone and down below in the sand and the rocks.

His first Master once told him it takes strength to resist the allure of the Dark, that to yield to its call is the last resort of the weak. Yet another lie, another truth Vader had to learn on his own bloodied hands: only the weak do hide from themselves and deny their own golden-eyed shadow. It takes ultimate strength to embrace the Dark Side, to accept the darkness within.

Embrace your fear and accept that you can murder children to save your doomed wife.

Embrace your anger and accept that you can slaughter the innocent to avenge your dead mother.

Embrace your hate and accept that you can cut down the friend who betrayed you – the _brother_ who left you to burn.

Through blood and fire, through death and pain was their destiny forged. Never again will he yield to fate; even if the past can never be changed, the retribution for what was stolen from him is still his to take.

The second truth boils in his blood, red as that fateful sunset of long years ago.

 

_…I gain strength._

 

***

 

_There is no ignorance…_

 

Notwithstanding the warning in the Force, seeing Luke with Artoo and a message for _an Obi-Wan Kenobi_ has taken old Ben by surprise; the ways of the Force are mysterious indeed.

When, back in his humble hut, he sees young Luke smile, Ben’s own smile freezes a bit on his lips. Those eyes – so achingly familiar and still blessedly pure – bring him a strange mixture of joy and heartache.

“And he was a good friend,” he says before he can stop himself. _He is my brother_ , is what he truly means. “Which reminds me… I have something here for you.”

To hold that hilt once again in his hands almost brings tears to his eyes, and to see Luke wield it in childlike awe makes Ben feel every bit as the relic of a long-forgotten past he actually is.

“How did my father die?” the boy asks at last, distant longing shadowing his face. The hilt soiled with the innocent blood of Sand People and Jedi is still clutched in his equally innocent hands.

He will not burden the boy with this truth, it is far too soon. Wisdom is not easily earned and must be obtained step by step. In time, Luke will understand.

Back then, on the shores of the river of fire Obi-Wan has screamed _I loved you_ as he watched his brother burn. Only the Force knows how long it took him to accept the whole truth – to spell out that dreaded present tense.

_I love him still._

The dark face of the sun, the dark side of his soul.

Through blood and fire, through death and pain he is still glad he had Anakin in his life. There is no need of whys, there is only the knowledge of what is, what can never be changed. He has surrendered to his fate and embraced the heartbreak it brings forth, but he wants to spare Luke a while longer, for as long as he can, and his sister with him – _oh sweet Force, she looks so much like her_.

The second truth helps him hide his well-intentioned lie in plain sight. The Force will unveil everything in due time.

 

_…there is knowledge._

 

***

 

_Through strength…_

When Alderaan bursts, Vader does not savor its end in the Force. It means nothing to him. There is no strength to be gained in the death of billions useless souls gone without strife – particles of dust swept away from the canvas of life.

Death is a powerful ally, but there are some more powerful yet, japor wood dried in the scorching heat of time, timber ready for his inner fire. What now Vader knows, Anakin had _felt_ , a gut sense, the driving force of the whole universe. The one thing he had been taught to deny.

What fuels him now is the personal agony of the Organa girl, the hatred untamed, the pain throbbing and raw, they all resonate in his soul in symphonic despair. Yet the fire has to be shaped if it is to be put to use – if let free to roam it will once again lead him to destruction, as it did on the smoldering shore.

The Jedi, the fools, once admired the Master of Vaapad, the coward who flirted with Darkness.

As a Sith he has learnt to take Darkness by force.

_Dreams pass in time._

Had he been taught to use his fear, he would have bare-handedly slaughtered the beasts, he would have saved his mother, brought her with him to let her live the life she deserved – but no, he was told to wait while she was tortured to death.

_You have done that yourself!_

Had he been taught to use his anger, he would have directed it against him, the traitor who had to die, and how sweet would that have been, to feel Obi-Wan’s life slipping through his fingers as he choked his old Master to death, and he would have reigned with Padmé as his queen and his child as apprentice and heir – but no, the power untrained had killed those who were meant to live.

_You have become the very thing you swore to destroy._

Had he been taught to use his hate, he would have impaled the man on his blade just as he had done with the Jedi spawn in the Temple, he would have thrown his soiled remains in the fire and stayed there to watch him gloriously burn – but no, his undisciplined hate had been too strong for his own flesh to bear.

Still, in the end, his hate is what has let him survive, the only thing for which he lives still, the ultimate power, the way to cheat death. And now he knows how to put it to use.

This time, he is the Master.

The third truth, he holds it in his iron fist.

 

_…I gain power._

 

***

 

_There is no passion…_

 

When the Force screams in pain, Ben’s heart dies in his chest. Memories he had managed to lock away resurface on his paralyzed mind – gunfire, a yell, deafening explosion, a feral moan, cold water rushing to meet him in his fall, the scream in the Force, terror overwhelming, scream upon scream upon scream – silence.

Nothing but silence – only a mosaic of bodies on a cold marble floor.

There is no end to the horror.

For a moment even Luke is forgotten as Ben stumbles towards a seat – _I have failed you, I have failed them all once again._

He reaches out towards the abyss, the devouring void, the planet-eating sarlacc that floats in cold space – he is there, he can feel him – oh, the numbness within.

_Anakin, why?_

Never, never, never will he understand either how or why. 

_I do not fear the Dark Side as you do._

Even stars do burn out, Qui-Gon had shown them that. Fear had been Anakin’s oldest friend – but already as a child he had been able to look it in the eye. Oh cruelest Force, why of all things did his love have to be his downfall?

_Will my own love be the downfall of us all? Will I be able to let go?_

_Your will not take her from me!_

Obi-Wan has learnt all there is to know about anger, the savage scream of the wounded soul, the old familiar fire, the pleasure of feral rage, the wild dance across the Nubian chasm. How many times had he wanted to crush his enemies to dust? Just as many times as he stood his hand. How many times had he wanted to cut them to pieces? Just one time less than those his blade passed through living flesh.

_He took you from me, he took everything from us both. How can you stand by his side?_

_This is the end for you, my Master._

Hate is the bouquet of the rarest wine, inebriation comes with just one small sip. At least in this, Obi-Wan never failed, he has let the cup pass, has never craved the forbidden fruit. Yet he has been forced to watch, high and aloof, while the poison consumed that once brightest soul.

_Would I be able to resist the siren’s call were I to face the one who caused it all?_

“Are you all right? What’s wrong?” a now familiar voice calls.

And, in the end, the answer is there. For Anakin's children he will do what he must. He will stay on the path.

The third truth shines bright in young Luke’s blue eyes.

 

_…there is serenity._

 

***

 

_Through power…_

Kenobi is here, he can sense him.

Barely containing the furnace inside, Vader searches for him, a loth-cat after an elusive light.

When the man appears, disillusioned anger is all he can feel.

Old, battered and weak, only muted horror and pain on his wrinkled face.

A useless shell of his past self, subject to the caprices of time and frail flesh. Ironic, how Vader has to thank his Master of old for having removed him from such basest cares.

He prods at him in the Force – ah, it is still there, the spark – the holier-than-thou conviction of some great design of fate – this is all Vader needs to let the energy he is been hoarding since Scarif explode, to let the supernova burst and its inferno consume it all.

He advances towards the old man, baiting him with words he has waited to say for so long, so many long years he can no longer count.

There is no overestimating his powers now, this is the one last test, a test he knows he will not fail.

 

… _I gain victory._

 

***

 

_There is no chaos…_

Jedi and Sith.

Blade of light and blade of darkness.

The clash of lightsabers is but a mockery of a duel. The real fight is inside them, around them, in the Force that surrounds them, penetrates them and binds them.

And when the Force shivers time stills and even the stars hold their breaths.

The silence of an age is shattered by panicked fear.

“Ben!”

He turns, he sees him, he sees her – _them both,_ _oh_ _Force, how they’ve grown –_ and just for a moment the too familiar old pain breaks what is left of his heart.

Ben would have spared Luke this, the horror he himself once had to go through. Selfishly, maybe, he wishes he could have more time to spend with the boy and teach him the ways of the Force.

But that future is gone, and a new future and present and past are all condensed in the here and now. 

_What will happen to me now?_

It started in fire, before the pyre of his Master.

_Another pyre in a wood, he knows not what it means, he leaves the future to those who will see it._

It ended in fire, before the pyre of his Padawan.

_I hate you!_

And now the circle is complete.

_Enemy, Master and Learner._

Notwithstanding the morbid irony, Obi-Wan leaves gross matter behind with a smug smile on his lips. He won’t deny himself this last laugh at the expenses of his friend of old.

The blue blade rises, the red blade falls, a scream fills the air.

Murderer, Murdered and Survivor.

The luminous being, now free from gross matter, still guides from beyond, he still helps – he still loves.

_Run, Luke, run!_

It ends as it has begun.

 

_…there is harmony._

 

***

 

_Through victory…_

At long last, it is done.

The Jedi hunter can finally rest, he has sent their last to an empty grave. It is only fitting it would be his Master of old.

Still, the aftertaste is not as sweet as he would have thought. The anticipation was not met by comparable pleasure. There is no empty corpse to behold, no decaying old body to mock.

Once again Vader is left with but rubble and doubt – where have they all gone?

The apprentice, disappeared as Malachor crumbled, and the Master, dissolved into thin air?

Stop it, just stop it. Gone, they are now gone, they are forever gone, who cares how and why, they are still prisoners to their precious Light.

The last one who remained, the one link to the past, the chain to be broken, even he is no more.

There is nothing left.

A battered brown cloak and an old lightsaber hilt are the tombstone on Anakin Skywalker’s cold and lonely grave.

This is their end.

 

… _my chains are broken. The Force shall set me free._

***

 

And, in the end, is this what freedom means?

To watch your own son die and freely choose not to help?

Because now Luke is dying and Vader can feel it – can see it, he does not even need the Force to tell. This amount of Force Lightning is far too much for any human body to bear.

_I am Sith._

The strong destroy the weak. Darkness has to conquer useless Light. He is Sith. Again and again, he repeats the mantra in his head.

 

_Peace is a lie, there is only passion._

His whole life has been guided by its fire.

_I truly, deeply love you, and before we die I wanted you to know._

_[He used your love to deceive you.]_

_Through passion I gain strength._

The strength to surrender to the demon inside.

_You have become the very thing you swore to destroy!_

_[She would never have wanted you to do that.]_

_Through strength I gain power._

The power to destroy everything he had fought for.

_Then you are lost!_

_[And, in the end, your powers couldn’t even save her.]_

 

_Through power I gain victory._

A victory as empty as his soul.

_Don’t try it!_

_[You forced your brother to destroy you.]_

 

_Through victory my chains are broken._

The chains he chose for himself – the chains of his hatred, the chains of his love.

_You were supposed to destroy the Sith, not join them!_

_[He did not free you, he made you a slave.]_

 

_The Force shall set me free._

And only now, at the end, does he understand. The burden of choice has never been lifted from his shoulders. He can never be free as long as he lives.

_You were the Chosen One!_

_[Anakin, this is your one last chance.]_

His freedom tastes of blood, the blood of his son.

The blood of his wife. Obi-Wan’s tears. His daughter’s pain.

_You are strong and wise, Anakin, and I’m very proud of you._

_Death._

_The Force._

“Father, _please…_ ”

_It’s the happiest day of my life._

“And now, young Skywalker… you will die.”

The words break through the black armor enclosing Vader’s soul. Young Skywalker, his son – Anakin’s son. Padmé’s son. Blood of their blood.

_Anakin, all I need is your love._

Blood of his own mother's blood. 

_Now go, and don't look back. Don't look back._

 

Anakin Skywalker raises his head and does not look back. He looks fear and loss and death in the eye and, from behind Vader’s mask, he smiles.

Then, the Emperor dies.

 

_***_

_There is no emotion…_

He can feel no fear, nor anger nor hate.

Luke raises his head and Anakin can see only love in his son’s clear blue eyes – mirror of his own.

It is over, at last. He can finally breathe.

_…there is peace._

_There is no ignorance…_

When Luke removes Vader’s mask, Anakin sees himself in his son, the shadow of the man who has always been there all the while as Vader lied to himself.

… _there is knowledge._

 

_There is no passion…_

There is no atonement for his crimes. The only thing he can do now is give his children what comfort he can.

“Tell your sister you were right.”

He leaves judgment to the Force and smiles as he dies.

_…there is serenity._

_There is no chaos…_

“What will happen to me now?” he once asked in front of a pyre. Now, as he drifts in the white, he sees his son lighting the fire – it ends as it has begun.

_...there is harmony._

***

_There is no death…_

 

“Hello there, my old friend.”

White darkness recedes and Anakin’s eyes meet their green-blue twins.

What he sees is not the Obi-Wan of his youth, but the old hermit of the dunes. Not a memory of an happier past, but the man who knows his darkest deeds, the man who has seen it all, the man who still smiles.

Once again, the Master accepts the Padawan in front of a pyre and teaches him the ways of the Force, teaches him how to see for himself the smiles of his daughter and son.

After, when only embers are left, Yoda is gone and the music is tuned down, there is something Anakin has to ask, ask whether it was truly Obi-Wan’s voice he heard on the second Death Star.

Now, in the Force, there can be no lies.

“It was not me.” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I could not intervene, I left it to the Force's will... And your own. I knew you would not let me down.”

“Then the Force itself speaks to me in your voice,” Anakin says, and brushes away the ghost of a tear from his old Master’s cheek, one last offering of love cherished by the younger bright sun.

When the time comes, they leave side by side, and together they meet their final truth, that one last rhyme.

 

_…there is the Force._

**Author's Note:**

> So, first of all, I'm not dead. I've been working on this self-indulgent collection of callbackery and feels since August, and to upload it was one of my New Year's resolutions, so yuppie for ticking this first box off the list already on the 2nd day of the year. Updates to Balance and my other fics will follow in due time, please bear with me, RL has been a real pain in the arse these last months. 
> 
> Now, credit when it's due: for those who are not familiar with the old EU, a lot of the imagery used here is taken straight out of Matthew Stover's Revenge of the Sith novelization (the bits about the furnace inside Vaderkin, the dragon, stars die out and all this over-the-top angsty stuff) and John Jackson Miller's Kenobi novel (the legend of Tatooine's suns). I did not do this intentionally but last week I realized that some parts of this (the Obi-Wan's parts) are deeply indebted to Ruth Baulding's wonderful Adagio - I've read it so many times I internalized some of the imagery she used.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and happy/angsty New Year to you all! <3


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